


where the wild things go

by l_cloudy



Series: The Prisoner [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, Identity Porn, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Roleplay, S&M, and deals with his feelings by pretending they don't exist, wherein kylo deals with his identity issues through lies and roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s erasing Ben Solo night after night, destroying him with renewed fury. He’s <em>not</em> slipping. And Hux - Hux keeps the Light away.</p><p>(a follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6799030">and lead us not into temptation</a>, though it can stand on its own)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! *waves* A few quick things:
> 
> ++ This is the follow up to '[and lead us not into temptation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6799030)’, but it’s not strictly necessary to have read the first one, although that’d make me super happy. There’s a summary in the end notes to the story if you can’t be bothered (but seriously, it’s short so go check it out) and then you can just jump straight into this moody kinky fuckery. 
> 
> ++ @all the people who ~~strongarmed me~~ asked me to write a follow up: you are all filthy enablers and I  <3 you a lot. Also, I tried to listen to people when it came to story ideas so here, have Kylo’s POV and Hux figuring out what exactly happened to Ben Solo. Story takes place about 4/6 months post-canon and a year or so after the first one; there are only minor warnings for this chapter, also in the endnotes. Enjoy!

In the darkness, among the mists and the cold of Snoke’s stone fortress, Kylo Ren dies and he is reborn.

Many times over he is destroyed and remade again, moulded into the man he was born to be. He is taught to endure fear and pain alike, to channel them into the source of his power – and the light, the terrible Light; he is made  to withstand that, too.

He succeeds, but not entirely.

The Kylo Ren who returns to the fold is in appearance no different from the man who left, although he knows something inside him must be have changed by now. He is stronger, certainly; the Supreme Leader has made sure of that. Kylo doesn’t feel as invincible as his Master expects him to be, not yet, but one day he is confident that he will. He just needs to take of the light once and for all, to shut it away where it can no longer weaken him.

He thought that killing Han Solo would take care of it, but he had been wrong.

Night after night, Kylo remains kneeling on the floor, his knees stiff and sore, fresh marks marring the pale expanse of his back. He had been wrong and now he pays the prince in endless torment; and he aches and he bleeds, but the call never goes away.

+

He returns to the _Finalizer_ in the restless quiet of ship night – ideal, Kylo thinks, wryly; the less people around for him to scare to an early death. The General must be so very relieved.

Hux isn’t waiting for him in the half-empty docking bay. It’s to be expected, given the hour, but the brief twinge of disappointment he feels fills him with an uneasiness he doesn’t like. Kylo has never liked the idea of having to rely on something he cannot provide for himself, personal attachments least of all, with Hux as the only tentative exception. The only reason he tolerates the General at all, he tells himself, is for the service he provides.

Hux keeps the Light away.

The officer who welcomes him on board is one of those bridge holo-pushers, a woman a few years older than himself whom Kylo probably has met before but cannot remember, inconsequential as she is. He lets her say her piece and record the exact time of his arrival, graciously  ignoring the slight tremor of her hands and the way her eye twitches the whole time. Then he promptly turns away and forgets everything about her bland, unmemorable face.

Five steps later, he stops. He turns.

“Captain,” Kylo begins.

She swallows. “Sir?”

Briefly, he considers the value of asking – but no, he decides. Let Hux come to him, first.

“Never mind,” he says. “Return to duty.” He stalks away, heavy steps echoing in the corridors. His quarters, it turns out, are exactly how he left them. He falls asleep quickly, and he does not dream.

He wakes in the afternoon cycle, his mouth sour and his head dizzy. For the first time after months not a single part of himself is hurting, and the absence of pain makes him feel terribly light – like he could disappear at any moment, carried away. He dons every piece of his attire with renewed care, relishing in the comfortable anonymity of it, the way it turns him from a man into a primordial force. In the hallways, the ‘troopers avert their helmeted gazes and the officers offer hesitant, shaking nods of the head. As he passes, they all recoil, their fears making him bolder.

In truth, Kylo Ren is weak; but to those awed eyes, he doesn’t have to be.

He finds Hux in the heart of his little kingdom, the still centre around which the entire galaxy revolves. He is indulging in his habit of taking reports standing in sight of the observation deck, unflappable as a carved statue, surveying his people and his stars alike. Today he is talking to some junior officer as Kylo approaches, impeccably put-together as always with his chin held up high and boots polished to a shine – but there is something else, too, an air of exhaustion in the shadows under his eyes, the waxy complexion of his skin.

Kylo comes to a halt next to him, their shoulders barely brushing, and clasps his hands behind his back in a mimicry of Hux’s pose. He waits, then, for the General to speak first. He may be soft, may be needy, but he doesn’t have to _show_ it – especially not to the man who has already seen him at his very worst. _Broken and bleeding in the snow_ , his mind supplies, and Kylo drinks in the shame, he draws strength from it.

 _A whimpering mess, utterly worthless. Crying on the floor_ –

Kylo exhales slowly. That hadn’t truly been him then, of course, so it doesn’t really count. Ben Solo may be a snivelling, pathetic wreck of a man, but Kylo Ren will not suffer any kind of debasement besides what he allows. And so he stands in silence as he waits for Hux to humiliate himself by showing his need.

He counts himself lucky, then, that the man next to him has no patience.

Hux always, always greets him first.

“And so you’re back,” he drawls, when enough time has passed. Kylo smiles under his mask. He feels as though something inside him is humming.

“What an excellent observer of men you are, General.”

Hux is wearing his greatcoat in that silly way he favours, unbuttoned and slung across his shoulders like one would a cape, his one and only idiosyncrasy. It slips slightly as he turns, sharply, to catch Kylo’s gaze with a carefully even look. “Wait for me in my office,” he says, voice lilting so it’s almost a question, almost soft. “I’ll be there soon.”

He looks at Kylo with the sort of cautious anticipation one would some large wild animal, easily spooked. As though he’s expecting Kylo to make a scene, which is why he nods instead, enjoying the way Hux’s pupils widen in surprise. “Five minutes,” he concedes. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Of course,” Hux agrees, condescendingly, already tapping away at his holopad. “I’m sure you are a very busy man.”

Kylo scoffs to himself as he makes his way to the small room Hux has long since claimed for his exclusive use, the door sliding closed behind him with a soft click. He goes to sit at the desk, booted feet propped on the immaculate surface, his mask nestled amidst all of Hux’s orderly trinkets, and he waits.

Hux glares at the scene when he comes in, but Kylo can tell it is mostly out of habit. The General is not a particularly loud thinker, but he’s not unreadable either, and on most days Kylo can easily feel the low buzzing of his feelings like a familiar background noise. Today it’s lingering stress and a surprising hint of fondness, and something almost like guilt on top of it. And, above all, nervousness; strong enough to drown out almost anything else. It hits him like a flood, stronger now than they are alone, stronger still as Hux walks up to him, circling around his desk and pushing Kylo’s feet off it so he can lean against the edge.

“Kylo,” Hux breathes out, stern visage softening for one brief moment. There’s still that nervousness pouring off him in waves, so unsettling. Hux usually tries to keep his emotions under check – failing utterly, mostly – but today it’s different. Kylo’s felt weaker bursts of feelings form people in the throes of death.

Hux clears his throat. “Do you bring any orders from Leader Snoke?”

“Only for myself,” Kylo says. He frowns. “You know I would have reported it already if they were.”

Hux nods, but he looks frustrated, gloved hands balled into fists. He wonders how long it has been since Hux received direct orders, since he was graced with the favour of the Supreme Leader’s attention, what any of this means for the both of them.

“How have you been?”

Kylo jolts, startled, looking up from his lap to the man in front of him. “What?”

Hux’s face is – interesting, to say the least. He flushes red for all of two seconds, before narrowing his eyes and pushing through his apparent discomfort. “I said,” he begins, exaggeratedly slowly, as if talking to a child. “How have you been.”

Never before has Hux managed to render him speechless, but he’s doing it now. Kylo frowns, biting the inside of his cheek, stunned.

“It’s customary to answer that kind of question,” Hux points out, after the stillness between them has started to grow awkward. Kylo leans back against the chair and stares intently, taking him in, wondering what may have brought about this sudden interest. Most likely, he decides, Hux must be on thin ice with the rest of the Order after Starkiller. He must have realized he needs a strong ally.

 _Yes_ , Kylo thinks, _this must be it_. He crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t say a word, well aware of how badly Hux deals impatience. Regardless of what he likes to tell himself, Hux never really did well with prolonged silences.

He keeps staring, unabashedly, until Hux starts to shift and  fidget with his hands, opening and closing his fists. “Right,” he says. “I see you’re still not much for social niceties, Ren.” He looks down at his pad, typing something as if to pretend he’s busy. It’s utterly unnecessary, and oddly endearing.

“I have been well,” Hux continues. “Thank you for asking. Recalled back to Home World, three days of debriefing and an inquiry. Just as expected.”

It cannot have gone too badly if Hux is still here, in command of the flagship and strutting around as always. Taken down a notch, perhaps, but still as proud as always was.

“You pinned the blame on me,” Kylo guesses, even though he already knows the answer. He told Hux to do as much, before departing, and he doesn’t know why he even bothered – Hux would have done it regardless.

It _was_ his fault, of course; he’d been too busy chasing after the scavenger girl to care about the explosions in the oscillator. But there was more to the story, more Hux doesn’t know, and Kylo tries not to think much about Starkiller if he can help it. It brings back memories of Han Solo, and how it was all for nothing, and he always feels his throat contract in that familiar, unpleasant way.

“Of course I did,” Hux is saying, matter-of-factly, pitifully glad that Kylo gave him an opening to keep the conversation going. The General does like to hear himself talk, in public as well in private, and Kylo sometimes finds himself of what a horrible Force user Hux would have made, physically unable to shut up for the time necessary to attempt mediation.

“High Command hates you, by the way,” Hux goes on, as if Kylo should care. As if it were news. The First Order’s leadership – made up of bitter old Imperials and younger, angry exiles like Hux, all equally stiff and arrogant – never truly accepted having a Force user in their midst, the odd cog in their well-oiled, perfect machine. Not that Kylo ever bothered trying to make it any easier for them.

Privately, he suspects High Command doesn’t particularly likes the idea of taking orders from a Force user, either, but Kylo was never privy to the details of whatever arrangement his Master made with the Order. He only hopes, for their sakes, that they remain loyal.

“Plenty of people hate me,” Kylo replies, because it feels like something he ought to say, but the entire conversation feels odd. It’s as though he’s forgotten how to talk to Hux when they aren’t at each other’s throats, if ever learned that at all, and Hux is staring at him like _he_ had forgotten what Kylo looked like until now, like he’s trying to burn every single line of his face into his mind.

Hux leans down, closer and closer and then they are kissing; Hux’s dry, chapped lips so cold against his own. He brushes his fingers lightly over the ‘saber wound marring Kylo’s cheek as he sucks on his lower lip, nipping with just the barest hint of teeth, then takes Kylo’s face between his gloved hands and holds him steady. He licks into Kylo’s mouth and Kylo lets him, remaining still with his hands flat on his thighs and his eyes open, relishing in the sensation of another body close to his own even though he knows he shouldn’t.

Hux is very, very good at kissing, even though it’s something they do rarely, if ever. One week before the Starkiller disaster, Hux spent an entire afternoon in a forgotten corner of the base trashing Ben Solo quite thoroughly, fucking him relentlessly with only his own blood to ease the way; and when that had been over he’d curled up on the floor with Kylo’s head on his shoulder, stroking his hair and kissing him for what felt like hours.

In truth, of course, it had been much less than that – mere minutes until Kylo had recovered enough to stand, shoved Hux off himself and sent him on his way with a rude jape and cruel words, angry that once again he’d been undermined, coddled like the weakling Solo was.

But it had felt _good_ , Kylo remembers, so good; and suddenly his hands are pushing Hux’s pretentious greatcoat off his shoulders, tugging at the flies of his perfectly pressed uniform slacks. They’ve never fucked in Hux’s office before but, he figures, there’s a first time for all things. He’s just starting to entertain the thought of bending Hux over his desk – the desk where he sits at to receive his officers, where he makes all his important holocalls and writes his propaganda speeches – when Hux takes a step away and lets his hands fall, glancing up at him with a frown.

“Kylo,” he says. “I’m still on duty. You know that.”

It’s Kylo’s turn to frown. “You are the one who kissed me,” he points out. He wouldn’t put it past Hux to deliberately tease him, the little shit, but Kylo hasn’t given him any reason to. Yet. He’s only just returned, after all.

He’s just returned and everything is so _strange_ , Hux most of all. Strangely off-focus, familiar and different at the same time. He’s remembered of that one time when Ben Solo had broken one of his mother’s cherished crystal ornament, a knickknack older than she was that had been manufactured on Alderaan. He had cried so much then, shaken by sobs of guilt, and kept crying as Han Solo painstakingly glued every single piece back together. _See_ , _kid_ , he remembered Ben’s father saying, holding the crystal flower for him to see. _Looks like new._ Only it was not. It never was the same.

Right now, Hux is making the face he always does when he doesn’t know how to deal with something  – usually his own feelings, Kylo thinks wryly, and the idea of _Hux_ and _feelings_ should probably make him more alarmed than it does.

“Will you–” Hux begins, then trails off. “Are you free,” he asks. “Later?”

“You know I am.”

When Kylo is not away on a mission, he is always free to use his own time as he thinks best. Hux has never, before now, asked him if he was _free_ , only just made his schedule known and expected Kylo to comply with it. Today, Hux nods, as if trying to convince himself of something. “Right,” he says. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Kylo, and he doesn’t give him the time to put his helmet on again before he’s leaving the room, metal door closing behind him with a mechanical noise.

In the hours to follow, Kylo tires himself out in the ‘troopers’ gymnasium. The sooner he gets himself acclimatized to the ship sleep cycle, the better, he tells himself, and seeking the minds of those around him for the causes of Hux’s odd behaviour is just an unexpected perk.

The lack of the mask guarantees him some cherished anonymity, a fair payback for the discomfort he feels in baring his face in public, and Kylo goes through the motions in a quiet corner of the exercise room, plucking the thoughts of those nearby until he’s gathered enough to form a complete picture. 

He finds the reason for Hux’s apparent tension in the person of Lieutenant Colonel Rahim, who has been appointed as an independent observer on the Finalizer after Starkiller. She’s outside the chain of command, much like Kylo himself, and has been conducting a series of inspection that most of the ship’s commanding officers seem to bear with perfect politeness and thinly-veiled ill grace. Grapevine gossip has it that the General has taken her presence like the insult it’s meant to be; and it is only natural, Kylo supposes, that Hux would feel the need to re-establish their previous association through whatever mean possible, if only to make sure Kylo is in his corner if something should happen.

Still, he’s not entirely pleased with the way Hux acted earlier, initiating sex before stopping like that. Kylo is almost tempted not to seek him out tonight, to make it clear he is above such petty manipulation, but his lack of initiative doesn’t stop Hux from requesting entry at his door only minutes after the official end of his shift.

“What are you doing here?” Kylo asks, surprised. He doesn’t think Hux has ever seen the inside of his quarters, and certainly they’ve never fucked in it – and yet here he is now, looking even more tense than he did earlier, indecisive and determined all at once, and smelling like an ashtray.

“What does it look like?” Hux says, rolling his eyes and entering without even waiting for an invitation. Obnoxious _and_ entitled, just like always, but Kylo can understand why Hux may not want Lieutenant Colonel Rahim to know who enters and exists the General’s rooms and at which time of night.

He watches as Hux takes a few steps inside and looks around, though Kylo owns little worth to look at – besides Vader’s helmet, obviously, locked safely in his meditation room. He walks over to the bedroom and undresses quickly, frowning at the way Hux seems to find it necessary to catalogue every single item in his possession, tracing the contours of every stupid trinket with curious fingers.

“Hux,” Kylo calls out, impatient. “You are welcome to make yourself useful, or you can get out.”

Hux turns to look at him and seems to hit him that Kylo is naked, stretched out on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head, waiting expectantly. It is flattering, the way Hux’s gaze grows heated as he takes him in, his hurried movement as he strips. Kylo watches as Hux takes off his boots and almost kicks away his uniform slacks, tossing his clothes off haphazardly one by one until he’s left only in his tank and underwear and comes to sit down on the mattress.

“Better,” Kylo says, allowing himself a grin. It isn’t shameful to admit that he’s missed this – he hasn’t done anything in months and Hux, with his odd little hang-ups about property and the likes, most likely hasn’t either. Still, he turns his head away when Hux leans down to catch his mouth, offering his throat instead.

“You’ve already got me in bed,” he points out, remembering how Hux kissed him and then sent him off. “No need for sentimentalities.”

Hux sighs, muttering something under his breath about Kylo being an uncivilized brute, and quickly moves away.

He’s putting his gloves back on, Kylo notices, suddenly flush with excitement. He much prefers it this way, the cool and the softness of well-worn leather against his skin keeping him anchored, but Hux is far too fastidious about his uniform and rarely indulges him in this way outside of their games. Today, the first brush of gloved fingers against his chest is enough to make him shiver; and he throws his head back and whimpers, cock stirring.

When he opens his eyes again is to the sight of Hux above him, straddling his hips and looking down at Kylo with his lip between his teeth and an intent frown on his brow. Hux is studying him like he’s never seen him before – and it’s unnerving; that strange look and the way he’s trailing his hands over the planes of Kylo’s chest and stomach, tracing moles and scars he’s already seen dozens of times with a strangely delicate touch.

There’s one especially that Hux put there himself, a thin line from slamming him against the sharp corner of a metal table that never quite healed after Kylo neglected to have it looked at. It’s small and white, almost invisible against the pale skin, and Hux claims he hates it except for the times he clearly doesn’t, when he’s too far gone to keep up the pretence – then he will press his lips to it, dragging the tip of his tongue against the skin with a gleam in his eyes Kylo would call fond if the two of them were anyone else.

Now Hux is looking at it like it’s something alien, his thumb trembling as it hovers above the scar. Hux’s other hand is at his other side, and then he’s touching him _there_ , tracing the barely-healed wound from the Wookie’s bowcaster.

Kylo jolts.

“What are you _doing_?”

He leans up on his elbows, suddenly tense. “Stop it,” Kylo says, sharply. It’s one thing to indulge whatever freakishness has come upon Hux until he gets it out of his system, entirely another to be reminded of the disgraceful memento of Han Solo’s death he’ll have to carry with him until the end of his days. He shifts his body under Hux’s hips, mildly surprised when he realizes they’re both still mostly soft. It seemed like something they ought to remedy, the sooner the better.

 _It’s been months_ , the thought sparks through him, his or Hux’s he doesn’t know; but either ways there are more entertaining this to be done than just staring at each other.

Out loud, he groans. "Do something about this instead,” Kylo says, thrusting up against the swell of Hux’s ass. Hux smiles down at him, quick and sharp, almost predatory.

“Needy as always, Ren,” he says, as if he had any room to talk. He gives a slow roll of his hips, fucking _finally_ , pressing his half-hard cock against Kylo’s belly with deliberate self-satisfaction. “Begging for it.”

Kylo laughs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, General.” He brings one hand up to Hux’s face, cupping his jaw in that patronizing way he knows Hux hates even as he leans into it. He strokes a thumb along the underside of his jaw, presses the pad to the pulse point. That’s Hux’s heartbeat, he thinks, Hux’s blood flowing against his finger.

“Did you think of me, while I was away?” Kylo asks, softly. Mockingly. “Did you _miss me_?”

Hux scoffs and looks away, freeing himself from Kylo’s grip. “Hardly.” He slides away from Kylo and off the bed, rummaging through his discarded clothes to retrieve that awful scented lotion he insist on using as slick, an odd musky flavour Kylo cannot stand but Hux seems inexplicably fond of. There’s a reason for that, some half buried memory Kylo won’t ever unearth because he has better things to do with his time than figure out what makes Hux tick.

He stares, one hand pillowed under his head and the other loosely wrapped around his cock, stroking himself lazily as he wonders why he’s even here. Hux is – he _should_ be – utterly inconsequential. He is spiteful and unpleasant and even their discussions, frequent as they are, are stilted affairs that fill him with annoyance instead of any kind of passion. Kylo cannot fathom what this man has that draws him so, even as he strokes his cock at the sight of Hux sliding off his undershirt, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Hux is lithe and pale, unimposing but for that fiery gleam in his eyes, with slim hips and thin shoulders and a pasty complexion Kylo should not find attractive, or remarkable, or anything at all. He has a pretty enough face, Kylo supposes, but it’s no easy to tell under his severe hairstyle and ugly sneers; and Hux’s one truly outstanding feature – his twisted, wonderful mind – is certainly not what made Kylo decide to take him to bed.

All of this sparks through his mind in a handful of seconds, and soon enough Hux has pushed his underpants down his hips and is walking back to the bed, fully nude and unremarkable and still the most appealing man Kylo has ever seen. He’s so much more than the sums of his parts, Kylo thinks, though he has no idea where that came from. His gaze catches on Hux’s cock, red and flushed, and his breath hitches somewhere in his throat. He swallows.

Hux sits back on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. If he were to try and kiss him now, Kylo may even let him.

“Turn around,” Hux says instead, voice low, and Kylo takes his time with it, stretching slowly and smiling his most salacious smirk before he rolls over and gets on his hands and feet. He makes sure to spread his knees and arch his back, theatrical to the point of obscenity, to display himself in full. Through the Force he can feel Hux’s arousal giving way to pure lust, and the _heat_ of him – the burn of his stare on his skin like the warmth of the sun on a summer day. It makes his mouth go dry.

Kylo breathes in, suddenly hyperaware of the heavy weight of his flushed cock between his legs. He turns his head and catches a glimpse of white teeth nibbling on red lips, and a heated gaze that makes something coil down deep inside him.

“Am I to your satisfaction then, General?” Kylo asks, and he’d meant it to be light and teasing – it _is_ teasing – but for some reason it’s enough to make Hux exhale sharply, one warm hand pressing firmly on Kylo’s shoulder.

“ _Ren_ –”

There’s a tension between them, some thick feeling in the air that’s almost unbearable in its intensity, something he’s missing. He doesn’t like it.

“Will you get on with it?” Kylo snaps, turning back his head so he doesn’t have to look at Hux, doesn’t have to see that strange sort of – reverence anymore. Like he’s made of glass, like that trinket of Leia Organa’s that her dead son broke. He closes his eyes and he pushes his ass into Hux’s warm body, rubs against his cock hoping he’d take the hint.

Hux scoffs and sighs as he complies; as if Kylo weren’t doing _him_ a favour, putting an end to the lack of regular sex that obviously made him desperate. He’s maddeningly slow as he goes about it, one leather-clad hand wandering the expanse of Kylo’s back as the other works him open, one lazy drag of a finger at the time. _He’ll have to throw away the gloves_ , Kylo thinks, _good,_ and then Hux is entering him, inch by inch, and he breathes and lets himself be.

It’s the most leisurely sex they’ve ever had, all heavy pants and light touches and the slapping of flesh against flesh. It feels so odd that they’re not speaking, no whispered filth or snide remarks to break this numbing silence, to remind them of what they are supposed to be.

Kylo normally would stand for this uncomfortable intimacy. He would complain, whine and goad Hux with some choice insult to give him what he’s really after – but, he figures, Hux is acting uncomfortable enough for the both of them, what with the way he’s folded himself around Kylo’s body, as if to make sure he doesn’t disappear.

He turns his head around at one point, when he’s on the cusp of finishing, driven slowly insane by the steady rhythm of Hux’s thrusts, the insistent press of his thumb against his leaking slit. He turns his head and he finds Hux with his eyes closed, looking tired and peaceful and restless all at once. Hux presses his mouth to one of the knobs of his spine, gives a particularly dirty twist of his wrist and that is it, and Kylo’s coming to the flicker of pale eyelashes against his shoulder, the wet press of warm lips against his skin.

Hux doesn’t last much longer after that, coming with a frantic shudder and a muffled groan before letting himself roll back on the bed, hair damp with sweat and jaw slack. His lower lip is swollen and bloodied like he bit on it and, for a moment, Kylo has to suppress the irrational urge to wish Hux had bitten _him_ instead, hard enough to draw blood. _Stupid_ , he thinks. Hux is not allowed to bloody him when they are like this; Kylo should know. He came up with the rule himself.

“–have water?”

He realizes, belatedly, that Hux is talking. He frowns. “What did you say?”

“I asked,” Hux repeats, sitting up. “Do you have a water shower?”

On a good day, Hux takes more water showers than Kylo does in a week. He doesn’t understand the obsession – sonic showers are faster, more efficient, and don’t leave his hair dripping – but then again, the boy Kylo Ren had once been had constant access to water growing up. Hux did not.

“Good,” Hux says, when no answer is forthcoming, getting off the bed and walking into the refresher. Hux knows more about his ship than any man alive, more than it is healthy; including, most definitely, the type and model of every appliance in Kylo’s quarters. But of course he’d consider actually asking for permission to be beyond him, Kylo thinks in a burst of wry amusement, watching Hux’s stupid freckled ass disappear from his line of sight.

“Don’t smoke in there,” he calls out, hopefully not too late. He lays on his head and closes his eyes, feeling his head spin. He feels light, too light, like his body is not his own.

For years now, Kylo has worn a string wrapped around his left wrist, like a sort of makeshift bracelet. It’s black and thick, made of smaller lacquered treads braided together and knotted, loose enough that it slides down to his elbow when he raises the arm, loose enough that two of Kylo’s fingers can fit comfortably between the thread and the soft skin of his wrist. A stylus, like the one laying on his desk next to the holopad he rarely uses, can fit several times over.

Now, dizzy and lightheaded, his eyes still closed, Kylo uses the Force to summon his stylus, grabbing it between thumb and index finger of his right hand, then slides it between the bracelet and his skin and turns his wrist in a rotatory motion, like opening a bottle with a corkscrew. With every twist the string coils, tightening against his wrist. With every twist he drivesthe hard surface of the stylus further into his pulse point, the knots on the thread digging into his skin hard enough to leave indents. It hurts.

Kylo keeps going, screwing the string over and over until his hand turns blotchy and red from the lack of circulation, until he has to bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from whimpering. He keeps going until the pain is enough to drag him back inside his own body, to keep him there. Only then Kylo lets go, admiring the purple strip that has already formed around his wrist, tender and beautiful.

He’s lying on his stomach with his left arm folded under his head when Hux walks back into the room, steps slow and heavy, and sits back against the headboard. He doesn’t smell like smoke anymore, which Kylo counts as a minor triumph until he hears the familiar clink of a lighter, the acrid stink of Hux’s favourite brand of poison.

“Why are you still here?”

There’s silence, awkward and deafening. Then Hux coughs, another stupid affectations of his. “Would you terribly mind?” he asks, indirect as always. He still sounds moody – Kylo had hoped a good fuck after months of nothing would be enough to shock him out of whatever mood he’d fallen into, this strange melancholy that is making his company so depressing; but it’s clearly not the case. He groans into his pillow.

“I _terribly mind_ that you’re smoking in my quarters,” he says, snidely, because he doesn’t like it but mostly to be contrary. He opens his eyes just in time to see Hux putting out his cigarette against the dark metal of the bulkhead.

“Is this any better?”

“Wonderful,” Kylo says, then rolls so that he’s on his side, giving Hux his back.

They fall asleep like this, without touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **chapter content warnings** : it’s implied that Kylo routinely self-harms, though in this chapter it’s fairly minor and not graphic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay – I was going to post this yesterday, but my last exam happened. On the bright side, I am now free as a bird and the final part is coming in just a couple of days. There are content warnings for this chapters for minor/mentioned violence, and also Kylo's head keeps being a mess as usual.

The room is dark and stifling and his arms ache, tied as they are to the back of the chair. He is cold – cold air on his naked skin, cold metal of the chair against his body, cold water in his hair from when he’d been hosed down, cold stone floor under his feet. He’s long since stopped trying to control his body and now he’s quivering like a leaf, his teeth gnashing together with every involuntary twitch of his shoulders.

“Ben,” he hears, and he shudders. “ _Ben_. That can’t be comfortable. Let me help you.”

He shakes his head, jaw clenching, too far gone for words. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what the General wants him to say, doesn’t know what he himself wants anymore. There’s only the dark and the cold, the strain in his arms and the iron rod that’s tracing the contours of his body, leaving trails of raised skin in its wake.

“You know you only have to speak,” the General says, and his words are like a lifeline, securing him through the darkness and the shivers and his rising despair. It’s like he’s drowning, adrift in some endless ocean, pitch-black and deep; and that voice is like an anchor, steadying him through.

He hates and loves it in equal measure, the soft clipped tones and the mockery hiding right at the edges, cutting through him like a razor blade, reminding him of how worthless he really is – and he _needs_ that, even as he recoils, squirming away and whimpering. He needs to be despised and condescended to, needs to be put back in his place, lest he forgets what he really is.

“Ben,” the General repeats. “You can talk to me. I’ll let you be after, I’ll even let you sleep. You’d like that…”

Sleep. Sleep sounds _blissful_ right now, closing his eyes and losing himself to the waves. He only has to – he has to–

“ _Ben_ ,” he hears, dry and sharp, and a slap hits him across the face. He jolts. It barely hurts, but Ben has never been one for physical pain. He whimpers and rattles in his restraints, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes.

“Please,” he says. He doesn’t remember what he’s pleading for, doesn’t know what to expect or what to hope for anymore, but he thinks the General likes that word. “Please,” he says again, and he’s rewarded with the press of the General’s body against his naked side, a gloved thumb brushing his cheekbone where the slap had hit.

It’s the first time the man has touched him at all since tying him to the chair; before that, he’d been stripped and hosed down almost clinically, with the least amount of physical contact. He’s been hit twice before this, the sharp sting of the iron rod on the back of his legs when he hadn’t sat down quickly enough – and then the General had used the same rod to roam over his body in lieu of his hands, as if to remind him that he wasn’t worth even a casual touch.

“Tell me,” the General says, and now he’s grasping at Ben’s jaw with his whole hand, the strength of his grip forcing his mouth open before letting go. “Tell me, and I’ll make it better. What is that you want, boy?”

The thought hits him, suddenly, through the hazy mess his mind has become: this is not how things are supposed to go.

The General – his captor, his torturer, the man who holds Ben’s life and death in the palm of his hand – he shouldn’t be acting like this; trying to bargain, trying to persuade him, offering things Ben cannot have. He should be screaming in his face, spiteful and merciless, breaking him. So that Ben could let go of his dignity, bit by bit.

There is nothing gradual about _this_ , instead. The way he’s been plugged straight into this numbing blackness, and now he is utterly lost.

He is nothing, he’s worth nothing, there is nothing he could possibly want.

“I don’t know anything,” he says. He’s sobbing, words running from his mouth like a flood. “I don’t know anything, I don’t, I don’t–”

“That’s a shame,” the General says – gentle, patronizing. Ben feels a hand running through his wet hair, slicing it back against his forehead. “What does that make you, then?”

His voice’s changed now, from patient to irked, and Ben understands why.

“Worthless,” he breaths out, just a whisper. It feels good admitting that. This is what he is, just the broken shell of a man who never was, an annoyance to be borne by those better than him. “I’m worthless,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He feels drained, spent. Gone.

The hand in his hair lets go, fingers brushing over his body in something that’s almost a caress. Then nothing.

“Lights,” Kylo Ren calls.

A sigh, the rustle of clothing, shuffling feet. “Are you sure?” Hux asks. “Shouldn’t you–”

“Lights,” Kylo repeats, and immediately has to shut his eyes tightly against the blinding glow. He’s been in the dark for what feels like ages, hours before Hux deigned to get started, and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to stop hurting. He lets his restraints fall to the floor in a clank of metal and stands up, stretching his cramped up body, groaning.

“Where are my clothes?”

His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears, but thankfully Hux doesn’t seem to take notice. “In the corner,” he says, pointing –and indeed they are, crumpled up in a messy ball of black cloth. They are First Order fatigues rather than Kylo’s own garments, one size too small and made of cheap cloth, but he finds he dislikes the carelessness of the gesture regardless.

“You could have at least folded them,” he says, and Hux snorts.

He throws on the shirt and climbs into the too-short trousers, feeling Hux’s eyes on him the whole time. He fishes in his pockets for a hair band, tying the wet strands away from his face, then turns back to meet Hux’s usual uptight frown.

“Are you–”  

“If you ask me if I am alright, Hux, I swear…” he trails off, shaking his head. Whatever threat he’s going to make it will only make him look ridiculous. Instead, he attacks. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“What?” Hux asks, suddenly oddly defensive. He’s still holding that thin metal rod in his off-hand, though he’s barely used it at all.

“ _That_ ,” Kylo says, making a sweeping gesture to include the chair in the middle of the room, the water hose and the handcuffs fallen to the floor. And nothing else, except the two of them and a bare cellar. “This – laziness.”

At that, Hux laughs. It’s deliberate, clearly for show, but it fills Kylo with rage regardless. He isn’t supposed to laugh at him like that, _that’s what Ben Solo is for_ … He clenches his fists as he watches Hux’s eyes brighten up in mirth, faked though it may be.

“You accusing me of laziness, Ren,” he says. “Oh, _please_.”

“Besides,” Hux adds, a mean twist at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say it went rather well, or didn’t it? You seemed pretty overwhelmed over there.” His voice lowers, takes a nasty turn. “Don’t you usually – last longer?”

“Cute,” Kylo says, dryly, jutting his chin out to point at the door. “Get out.”

Hux lets the iron bar still in his hand clatter to the floor before walking towards the exit with measured  steps. “Make sure you put everything back where we found it, would you? We wouldn’t want our host to get upset.”

He closes the door just ask Kylo sends the chair slamming against it with a loud _clang_ , taking pleasure in the way it shakes in its hinges. Count Talveer keeps shitty cells, that is for sure. And he certainly can’t be bothered playing chambermaid.

In the end, Kylo leaves the chair and the shackles where they are – they never will never be back on this hellhole of a planet anyway – and makes his way back to the guest quarters, feeling a pleasant burn in his legs with every step. There are deep, painful bruises forming on Kylo’s calves, but that is the extent of the damage to his body, and he’s finding he doesn’t mind it as much as he should. As much as he _needs_ the pain, on most days, he’s found that overindulging interferes with his physical training to the point of unproductivity.

Today was – not _ideal_ , not exactly, but close. Not as satisfying as the feel of his own slippery blood on his skin, not as degrading as being made to suck cock while tied up to an interrogation chair, but a decent enough compromise. Certainly better than the other time they’d tried this since his return to the _Finalizer_ , when Hux had been called away to see to some bridge mishaps, leaving him stuck in Solo’s head after a pitiful attempt at nurturing. That got him to wreck one of the boardrooms to get rid of his fury, which in turn got him the unwanted attentions of Colonel Rahim, who was still skulking around the ship trying to scrutinize Hux’s every move.

Kylo frowns, thinking of that odious little bureaucrat. Hux didn’t speak to him for three weeks after that, but tonight it’s been – tonight was _good_ , he thinks. Very, very good.

He returns to his room, to that plush tacky décor and the obscenely soft bed, and tosses and turns as he wait for sleep to take him. Already thinking of the next time.

The morning after sees their departure, and it couldn’t have come soon enough. He stands next to Hux as the Count bides them goodbye, wishing safe travels to the representatives of the Order and conveying his people’s hope that they would visit again soon. Impressively, he manages to make it look almost sincere; even offering his outstretched hand to Kylo without as much as flinching.

Definitely the most entertaining of all the petty rulers they have met so far, Kylo thinks as they take their seats on the shuttle, preparing to break atmosphere. He tells Hux as much, and the General gives him a very wry smile.

“I’m glad one of us his enjoying our pleasure cruise,” he says, and Kylo has to laugh in the face of such stiff martyrdom.

“You are being an absolute hypocrite,” he points out, relishing the feel of those words. It’s not often that he gets the chance to rebuke Hux in this way. He glances around, making sure they aren’t being overheard by their escorts, and leans in closer.

“You are showing your weakness,” he says, slowly, every word a pointed blow. “Betraying how little you know about _actual_ warfare. General.”

Hux recoils, schooling his features in a haughty sneer. “Oh please, Ren,” he doesn’t bother to keep his voice low. He looks like he’s spoiling for a fight, still riled up after last night, though he really should know better by now. “Please, school me on warfare. I’m sure that’d be enlightening.”

“If you insist,” he says. Unlike Hux, he keeps his words close to a whisper. “You may know battle strategy, Hux, but after the battle the dust settles and the compromises start. After the war comes the peace. Learn to deal with that.”

That had been one of Ben Solo’s first lessons, learned at an early age as he’d watched his mother grow more and more bitter, straining under that same pressure. Hux’s eyes meet his, searchingly, as if he’s trying to figure out what Kylo’s thinking even under the mask, and he shrugs.

“Thank you for the lesson,” Hux says, acidly, though it feels oddly rehearsed. He pats distractedly at his chest, right over the pocket where he usually keeps his cigarettes, then makes a face when he realizes they are still inside the shuttle. Kylo snorts

“Oh, fuck off,” Hux snaps, and that’s it. He takes out his holopad to sulk at it some more, and Kylo turns his head towards the transparisteel window, staring at the stars.

+

Life in the First Order fleet, after Starkiller, is boring and quiet and restless; like they’re aimlessly floating through space, waiting for something – _anything_ to happen.

In the wake of the destruction of Hosnian Prime, and the entire New Republic government with it, the galaxy is in chaos. Planetary autonomy had been at the basis of the Republic, the Senate governing in name only; but even so, the loss of the security the central government provided has been felt large and wide across the systems, even to those planet that never joined the Republic.

That is when the fleet comes in, circling like vultures, approaching the systems one by one – from west to east they flock in, with veiled threats and promises of alliances, of security. Of Order.

Hux is at their head, naturally, as he ought to be. He’s the face of the Order, the man behind the first – and only – strike of the war, the architect of the New Republic’s downfall. He’s known and feared across the galaxy, and a good part of that is the Resistance’s own fault. If they’d only focused on making their enemies look _weak_ instead of immoral, if they’d focused their propaganda campaign on Starkiller’s destruction instead of trying to paint the Order as even more vicious than they are, Hux wouldn’t have half the reputation he has now.

People may know that Starkiller is gone, but they have _seen_ Hosnian’s destruction with their own eyes on the holonet, dozens and dozens of times over, heard Hux’s words as he called for the end of the Republic. And the Order may not have a planet-sized weapon anymore but they have enough Star Destroyers to raze a world ten times over, more and more warships rolling off the assembly lines in Kuat, and the New Republic Fleet is no more.

And so they travel; and wherever they go, they intimidate and extort and seduce, signing treaties and accords and, on two memorable occasions, almost get shot out of the atmosphere. It’s not the most exciting campaign but it’s not the dullest either, and while Kylo’s been missing the lack of action, he thinks he’s been handling it a lot better than Hux has.

To all external observers, the General has been doing his job to perfection, carrying out every single mission with impeccable success, every bit as dedicated as usual. In private, though, it’s clear he can hardly bring himself to care about this particular stepping stone on the way to the Order’s ultimate victory. Even as he threatens rulers and charms diplomats whose colleagues he himself had killed, Hux acts strangely detached about the whole endeavour.

Like prepared his entire life for this moment, and now that he comes he is – not disappointed, exactly, but Kylo perceives that he’s not as enthusiastic as he could be. It’s a sensation Kylo himself is intimately familiar with.

And so, for convenience or lack of other occasions, he’s found himself spending more and more time with Hux as the weeks go on. From the strategizing to each single mission to the debriefings, then back with Hux to his quarters since he’s got nothing better to do anyway. He’s rarely summoned by his Master these days, somehow always ending up in the General’s bedchambers during his free shifts, staring at the dull ceiling as he listens to the obnoxious noise of endless pacing every time Hux works himself up to another anxiety fit.

One day he finds himself speaking up, offering suggestions he’d forgotten he could give, about topics he forgot he had ever learned. He bites down on his lip when he realizes his slip-up, but Hux doesn’t seem to notice, too pitifully glad for what he has been given. He never asks how Kylo knows and Kylo never says, and so he just – never stops. He tells himself he’s only doing it so he can get laid, schooling Hux on all the lessons Ben Solo never forgot, a veritable mine of facts about every single useless Mid-Rim planet and their equally useless people.

It doesn’t mean anything, Kylo decides. It doesn’t. And when he and Hux take up their little games again, then he’s no longer worried. He’s erasing Ben Solo night after night, destroying him with renewed fury. He’s not slipping.

He is not.

One evening, at the beginning of the sleep cycle, Kylo finds himself beckoned over to Hux’s side as their paths cross somewhere in the upper decks. He is on his way to the gymnasium; Hux has just finished his shift. Kylo stares with his brows arched as he approaches.

“General,” he says, speaking up in a mocking lilt just to see the way Hux fights the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. “To what do I owe the honor?”

It must be personal, he knows, or Hux would have simply commed him. But they’ve seen each other just this morning, and Hux didn’t say anything to him then. Whatever it is, it’s sudden. His gaze falls downwards, on Hux’s arms and his gloved hands, clenched into fists.

“Ren,” he answers, almost toneless. “Walk with me, would you?” And then, after a bare handful of steps. “I have something to ask you.”

“A favour?”

“A _requests_ ,” Hux corrects, stiffly, thought without much of his usual bite. “It’s about – our next meeting.”

Now Kylo’s intrigued. Hux hardly ever brings up their games when they aren’t actively engaging in them; if he does, they’re usually in bed. But, this time, he waited until they were in public. And he does look somewhat hesitant…

His feet stop cold in the corridor. “Do you want to stop?”

Kylo notes, relieved, that his voice isn’t trembling. That is good, that he doesn’t betray the agitation he feels. He has been spoiled, got too used to it – the welcome feel of being reigned in, being defeated. Since he’s taken up with Hux, more than a year ago now, he’s neglected to keep himself in check through his own means. Without Hux’s help in punishing Ben Solo, he won’t have the strength. The Light will call to him, as it always does, and he will falter…

“Ren.” He blinks and looks in front of him; Hux has also halted, a few steps ahead, and is now looking back at him with a confused frown.

“Kylo,” Hux repeats. “Come over here. Do you want the whole ship to hear?” And then, his voice low. “I don’t want to _stop_ ,” he says. “I want – I want you to do something for me.”

The relief crashes through him like a shockwave. “Yes,” he says, only realizing how stupidly _grateful_ he sounds when the words are out of his mouth. “I would consider that,” he amends. “What is that you need?”

Hux doesn’t reply, but he starts walking faster instead, making him almost struggle to keep up. After the official end of the evening shift, the corridors are getting crowded. People may not recognize him, wearing his unmarked fatigues, non-regulation hair tired in a knot at his nape, but they certainly recognize Hux, saluting sharply and jumping out of the way. They aren’t going unnoticed, and Kylo doesn’t particularly want to suffer this treatment all the way to Hux’s quarters – the last thing he needs is a particularly observing officer taking a good look at the tall man walking besides the General and putting the pieces together.

“Hux.” He stops the man with a hand on his shoulder, making sure to deflect everyone’s attention away from the two of them. “You will tell me now. I don’t have the time to wait on your whims.”

That is, of course, a lie. Lately, it is all he does – but Hux he doesn’t need to hear him admit that.

He steers them both towards the closest unoccupied room, forcing the hatch open with a sweeping gesture. Hux lets himself be manhandled inside graciously enough, but as soon as the door closes behind them he wiggles away with a pointed glare, making a show of straightening his uniform.

“In here will do,” Kylo says, looking around. The room is nothing but a glorified filing cabinet, small and narrow and overflowing with stacks upon stacks of data disks. There’s a small desk with a chair in a corner, and he almost pities the poor soul who has  to work in here every day.

“Nobody is listening,” he tells Hux. “Even if you shout. Out with it.”

Hux goes to sit on that sad little bureaucrat’s desk, crossing one leg over the other, left ankle resting over his right knee. He’s put on the face he uses when they’re summoned to his Master, stern and haughty and unreadable.

“I have a request,” Hux begins, repeating himself. “If we could do something – differently.”

Kylo only waits, takes in the determination flowing off Hux in waves. Whatever it is, the General truly wants it. Very much.

“I wondered,” he says. “What if Solo got away–”

“No.”

His voice is sharp, perhaps too sharp. “No,” Kylo repeats, more calmly. “That’s rather the point, isn’t it? Solo can’t get away.” He stops himself before he says something truly damning, _Ben Solo is too weak to accomplish anything_ , _Ben Solo exists to be destroyed. Ben Solo never, ever got away_. Hux thinks Solo was his idea, he thinks he was the one who’d decided that Leia Organa’s son would be the perfect victim of the might of the Order. It’s better for the both of them if he keeps believing that.

For a while there, Hux had been obsessed with mapping every faucet of Solo’s personality – what would Ben Solo do, what would Ben Solo say – and Kylo had openly mocked him for getting so caught up in what amounted to a particularly violent game of pretence, overzealous as always. In truth, he’d been unnerved. That boy was dead, dead and buried, and certainly he wouldn’t have commanded an ounce of Hux’s interest even if he’d been alive. Someone like Hux wouldn’t have looked at Solo twice.

“Ren,” Hux is saying now. “The point is that it’s a _game_. We can change the rules. And I want Solo to get away.” He licks his lips. “Just this once.”

Arguing the point further would get him nowhere, and probably make it clear he’s personally invested in this. _Just this once_ – he can live with that.

“Let’s say Solo gets away,” he begins. “Then what happens? You chase after him?”

“No,” Hux says. “I want to know – what would Solo do, in revenge, if he got away?” His face turns flushed at the edges, whether in anticipation or embarrassment Kylo can’t tell. “If he escaped with a hostage. Someone who tortured him for months.“

Kylo can’t help the laugh that escapes his mouth, long and deep and not at all kind. “Hux,” he asks. “Are you asking me to _hurt_ you?”

“Of course not. I’m your co-commander, Ren,” Hux says, in a mocking echo of Kylo’s own words, so long ago. “I can let _you_ subjugate me.”

He juts his chin out and stares at him, arrogant to the last. “But I wouldn’t mind if it were Ben Solo.”

“Why?” he has to know. It doesn’t make any sense – Hux enjoys the power, enjoys putting him back in his place, destroying Ben Solo and all he stands for. Kylo, for his part, is not sure he can do it quite as easily. He doesn’t know if he can allow Ben Solo this much power, the power to escape and make his own choices and hurt another human being. To be victorious instead of defeated.

“You seem to like it a lot, getting hurt.” Hux’s answer is dry and flippant, and clearly there’s more to it than what he’s saying. “I figured I’d try it out for myself.”

“Just this once,” Kylo reminds him – warns him. Hux nods.

“Just this once,” he agrees; and then, like a switch has flipped, he slides off the desk and takes his pad in hand, self-assured and in control.

“I’ve taken the liberty of mapping out some guidelines,” Hux says, like he’s discussing an attack strategy. “We’ll have to do this in your rooms, I’m expecting it’ll take a while. No fractures unless you really can’t help it, nothing that will scar. I’ll send the rest to you later, if you want.”

Kylo hadn’t been expecting quite this level of brisk efficiency. “You seem to have it all figured out,” he says, wryly, _before I even agreed_ left unspoken.

“It never hurts to be prepared,” Hux says. He walks to the door. “I’ve taken a few shifts off to finish some paperwork after our next planetside excursion. To allow for recovery.” His smirk is knowing and infuriating. “You can get as creative as you like. I’m sure you’ve thought about it.”

He takes off without further parting words, leaving Kylo standing in the middle of the too-small room, slightly hunched, mind reeling. He’s thought about how it would feel, to smash Hux’s face with his fists and press the sole of his boot to his throat, just to watch him scream. To make him whimper in pain until his eyes are watering. To press a multitude of bruises into his skin like blossoms, so that every time he looks at his body he will remember his humiliation, will remember being so thoroughly broken until he begs.

Kylo has thought about it. He can’t deny that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ++ YOU GUYS, I don't think I have received more amazing, thorough feedback as I did for this story. I am seriously overwhelmed. Thank you so much.
> 
> ++ If you're so inclined, hit me up on tumblr @[jonstarks](http://www.jonstarks.tumblr.com) to watch me scream a lot about fictional space morons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO EVERYOBODY. I am a terrible fic writer, because I should have posted this at least 5 days ago, only it turns out none of the places I’ve been staying at had decent internet connection that would hold for the time I needed to upload this and format it before posting. It has finally happened though, so I spent like one hour proofreading this before spending another two or three hours staring at the chapter trying to figure out if I should even post it at all. Which tells you a lot about the chapter, honestly.
> 
>  **content warnings** : there’s torture / non-con roleplay in this chapter; everything is consensual, but neither safe nor sane. If you want more detailed warnings check the endnotes, though those are spoilery.  
> (Also there’s a device used in this chapter that doesn’t work like this, but handwave handwave The Force.)

Hux comes to him three days later, early in the morning. He’s wearing his full uniform, though the set of jacket and slacks he has on under the greatcoat looks like it has seen better days, and his hair hangs limp and dishevelled around his face. He’s very pale, and the aura of nervous determination he gives off is enough to make Kylo almost recoil as he steps in.

“Kylo,” Hux offers. He smiles, even; a tired, manic grin.

Kylo crosses his arms over his chest. “You still want to do this,” he says, quietly. It’s not a question, but it’s as close as he will come to reassuring himself of Hux’s well-being. All he gets in reply is a stilted nod.

“Don’t touch my face,” is all Hux says, not meeting his eyes as he starts to strip there and then, standing in the entrance of Kylo’s sitting room. He folds everything meticulously until he’s left in his grey undershirt and those threadbare slacks, hands clasped behind his back.

“What about the boots?”

Kylo shrugs, not looking at him. Two can play at this.

“Take them off,” he says. He won’t be particularly comfortable, but Hux’s wellbeing is not one of his priorities, today more than ever.

“Right,” Hux says, still standing at parade rest by the door and looking something close to awkward. “Where are we doing this, exactly?”

He can feel him in the Force like a burning beacon, uneasy and just a obstinate as he always is. Kylo motions him to follow. “This way.”

His quarters are just as spacious as the General’s own; a front room, a refresher, and three connected chambers to use as he best wishes. The biggest one is his bedroom, where he’d hurriedly shoved a desk in a corner, just in case. Another room, the one that was probably supposed to be a study, is the one he prefers to meditate in, always kept a few degrees colder than the rest. The third room is for dining, though he always takes his meals in the bedroom instead. Before his move to Starkiller Base, he’d used it to practice his katas in; now there’s a thin layer of dust on the access pad, and the air is stale.

Inside the room it’s very dark. It’s drab and unfurnished, the plasteel floor chipped in places, and just yesterday he soldered a metal hook to the wall.

He shuts the door firmly and Hux exhales – a long, trembling breath.

“Is there anything–”

“No,” Kylo interrupts. “Shut up.”

He pushes Hux backwards until his back is against the wall, presses down on his shoulders until he’s crouching on the floor, then cups his face and wills him to collapse, unconscious. He goes down without a sound.

Kylo takes off his gloves first, then his boots and everything else. He commands the lights to hundred percent and then redresses quickly in the drab grey tunic of a prisoner, one somewhat worse for wear, and Hux’s discarded boots. They aren’t a perfect fit, but Ben Solo would not care, just glad to have any kind of footwear after weeks spent in captivity. The air is cool on his skin, almost enough to make him shiver and he thinks, _Good_. This isn’t supposed to be pleasant.

He carries Kylo Ren’s clothes out of the room and comes back inside with a chair and length of rope, and other items he sets in a corner out of the way. He keeps the rope, tying Hux’s forearms behind his back roughly, the knots tighter than they should be, biting into the soft white skin. This isn’t supposed to be pleasant for Hux, either.

Kylo takes a long breath and closes his eyes, and it is Ben Solo who looks around, after. He feels tired and scared, as any man on the run would, and angry. He remembers it all, the beatings and the tortures and the abuse, the awful fear that he would never get away, the humiliating burn of defeat. Suddenly, he feels vengeful. Vicious. 

He kicks the General sharply in the chest.

“Wake up,” Ben tells him, voice harsh. He throws another kick, for good measure, as the man starts to stir. For an instant he consider crouching down to slap him on the face but – no. Let General Hux’s first glance  of him to be upwards, neck straining, crumpled on the floor where he belongs.

“Wake up,” he repeats, louder. Hux’s eyes open slowly –

“Solo,” Hux says, sounding like he just tasted something sour. He shifts, struggles against his bindings. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

“Oh, but I’m not playing,” Ben assures him. It feels important that he makes this clear. “You can’t touch me now,” he says, voice high and shrill to his own ears. “You’re gonna know how it feels.”

There’s a gleam of – _something_ in the General’s eyes, gone in a flash. He schools his features in a stony mask, haughty and impassive, and Ben cannot wait to watch that façade break.

“If you think I’m scared of scum like you–“

Ben kicks him again, still in the same spot. The General winces, but then he clenches his jaw and sits up on his knees until he’s half-standing, teeth bared in a feral grin.

“Do you think I am scared of a little pain?” Hux asks. “I wrote the book on this, boy, do you really think –”

Another kick, harder this time, to his stomach. He falls to his side and Ben grins at him, just as wild. “I think that we’ll see,” he says. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.”

And that’s when he reaches for the pile in the corner, making sure the General can see what he’s got in his hands.

“You’ll be begging soon enough,” Ben says, enjoying the way the General’s pale eyes widen the slightest amount as he slides down next to him, the way he squirms when Ben smiles down at him and clasps the sturdy collar around his throat.

“I bet you’ve never used one of these,” Ben says, tracing the hard plasteel with the tip of his fingers. Hux ducks his head as much as he’s able to in the thick collar, snarls and tries to bite down on Ben’s thumb. He misses, and Ben’s smile only widens. “I’m sure you know how it goes, though,” ben says, then presses the small button he’s got in his other hand.

The General screams.

It’s a beautiful sound, Ben thinks, clear and high and so loud. Hux hadn’t been expecting it, clearly, too shocked and surprised to hold anything back. He’s screaming just like he’s made Ben scream so many times, and the satisfaction of it is enough to quell the small twinge of uneasiness he feels, that insidious voice deep down saying that Ben should not be doing this, that it is not who he is. _Just this once_ , the part of him that’s still Kylo Ren whispers, and he can allow himself this small indulgence. There are tears of pain in the General’s eyes, and it feels more exciting than he could have imagined.

When he stops, the General pants and shifts with a groan, throwing him a murderous look from under his sweaty fringes.

“Can’t even get your hands dirty like a man,” he says, spitting on the floor at Ben’s feet. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth, pale pink with blood.  “You will always be weak, Solo.”

Ben presses the button again. This time the General he’s prepared for it, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference – he still screams with all himself, legs and bound arms twitching, rocking into it. He’s doing it on purpose, Ben realizes, to distract himself from the pain and to set the bar low. He isn’t going to give Ben the satisfaction of making his resolve crumble time after time, of trying to keep quiet only for Ben to break him, and Ben thinks he would be angry if he weren’t so amused in the face of such stubborn defiance. Hux is telling himself that he has no shame, but he’s wrong. He is very, very wrong.

Ben drags the chair to the centre of the room and sits on it, playing idly with the button. He lets the shocks go through the General’s body at irregular intervals, to throw him off even more and perhaps just to see what happens.

In truth, the shocks aren’t very painful. He stole the collar from the Stormtroopers’ reconditioning facilities – it was an old model, one gone out of production for health concerns, but not even the most callous of the Order’s reconditioning officers would risk the life of one of their charges. The voltage isn’t especially high, but Ben reached out with a few tendrils of the Force into the General’s mind, to weaken his resistance to pain, to make every sensation feel amplified a dozen times over. Ben Solo is not very strong in the Force, Light Side weakling that he is, but even a drop will suffice.

He presses the button again, second lowest setting out of six. To Hux, it must feel like his skin is on fire.

This time, when he’s done, he stands from the chair and walks closer, leaning down to brush the General’s hair away from his pale, pale forehead.

“That sounded like it hurt,” he says, soft and concerned. “Are you ready to plead for mercy?”

Hux tries to speak, but his voice coms out broken, a low croak. Ben smiles. “I can give you water,” he says. “If you ask nicely.”

“You’re pathetic,” Hux says. “Pathetic and weak. You snivelling little–”

Ben’s boot hits him just above his sternum, and the General coughs. “I remember you crying,” he says. “Writhing as I fucked you. Squealing like a boy.”

“You won’t be squealing,” Ben says – promises him, really. His voice sounds strangely calm; inside, he’s reeling. “When I fuck you, it’ll be because you begged me to. Desperate, hoping that I’ll just let you be if you please me enough.”

For a split second, the General looks nervous. He’s quick enough to cover it up with a sneer. “If that makes you feel any better about yourself, Solo.” His face is glistening with sweat and drool, white as chalk, and there’s blood on his lips when he speaks; and still he continues.

“You’re a weak little coward playing at being a man,” Hux tells him, and he’s right. This is what he is. Ben Solo, weak and pathetic and useless – but, at the same time, he doesn’t want to be.

He presses the button again.

After a while, after what feels like hours, the General has no more voice with which to scream. He has long since started crying in earnest, a steady flow of tears running from his eyes, nose red and face blotched, shoulders shaken by sobs. Ben turned the setting of the collar up a notch and then another one, kept up at it until Hux is completely ruined, too far gone to do anything but twitch and whine weakly, defeated. He’s bitten his tongue bloody time and time again, and reaching out with the Force to make sure he won’t bite it off has been the only courtesy Ben has extended him.

This time around, when he finally deigns to rise from his chair and walk up to him, the General doesn’t make a sound. And when Ben traces his cheekbone with a finger he almost leans into it, until his eyes snap open and he winces, remembering just in whose hands he is now.

“Are you thirsty?” Ben asks. “Would you like a drink?”

Ben knows he would, in his place, and he can’t imagine how raw the General’s throat must feel by now. He doesn’t need to imagine it because he knows perfectly well how it feels – because he has been there more times than he can count, trashing on a hard floor and screaming until it’s the only thing he remembers how to do. He presses the button again, watching Hux’s heels kick into the floor as he rocks into it, eyes screwed shut and face wet with tears.

Ben counts the seconds and then stops, securing the device carefully to his belt. He kneels next to the General’s spent, wretched body, leans down to whisper into his ear.

“I can get you some water,” he says, gently. “If you ask nicely.”

Hux’s eyes are very wide as they met Ben’s.

“Yes,” he croaks out. “Yes. Please.”

Ben smiles.

“Of course,” he says. “If you’re good.”

He stands up and returns with a pillow in his hands, to put under the General’s head, then unties his arms. The rope has cut into the skin until it’s red and angry, wrists bleeding, and Ben cannot resist – he traces one of the wounds with a finger until the pad is covered in blood, then smears it roughly over Hux’s face to clean it up.

He secures the collar to the hook in the wall, then goes to get a glass of water – for himself, not for Hux. He makes sure to position himself in full view of Hux’s eyes as he gulps it down, stray drops dampening his tunic.

“Please,” the General says again, this time without prompting. Good.

“In time,” Ben promises.

He presses the button again, counting in his head. Up to ten, twenty, thirty. He keeps going. Hux’s spasms are stronger this time, his hoarse cries violent in their soundless impotence.

“Do you remember what I told you earlier?” Ben asks, when he finally lets go. He sees the General hesitate, undecided, as he tries to work out his thoughts through the haze of pain.

“Do you remember what you did to me?” He toys with the button, turning the setting up a notch – five out of six. All this time, he hasn’t let his hold on the General’s mind slip once. “You were bragging about it just now.”

He presses it again and Hux _screams_ , as much as he’s able to. Desperate, lost. He begs him to please, please stop, and Ben has never felt more powerful in his life. He knows there is a reason for that, knows that he shouldn’t, that power is not for the likes of him, but this… this is inebriating.

“Do you remember now?” he asks.

He can see the moment the General remembers, how his eyes widen and the look on his face goes from indignation, to fear, to resigned acceptance. When he speaks, his voice is trembling. “Do you want me to…”

Ben’s finger hovers over the button, and he winces.

“No.” Hux pleads. “No, alright.” He looks down, shame filling his eyes. “Please, fuck me.”

It’s barely a whisper, not good enough. “Where?” Ben asks. The General frowns.

“You’ll have to be specific, General,” Ben says. “I’ll only give you what you yourself asked for. What do you want?”

“What do I _want_?” Hux snarls. “You disgusting, smug little–”

Ben presses the button again, and the words turn into a scream. He lets it go longer than he ever has, until Hux starts to cry again, starts to wail.

“I can go on all day,” he says. “And tomorrow, and the day after. Until the pain becomes so much that it’s all you can feel. Until your brain _breaks_.” He reaches out into the General’s mind, tightens his grip a bit to remind him that he’s there. Ben cannot do much with the Force, but he can do this.

“And I won’t even need to touch you,” he says, twisting and pulling until his intangible clasp turns painful, until Hux shudders. “Beg me.”

“Please,” the General says. He’s speaking slowly, to give himself time, as if that would make a difference. “Please fuck me.” He takes a deep breath and averts his eyes, red-faced and humiliated.

“Please fuck me in the ass,” he says, and Ben smiles, victorious. He shakes his head.

“No.”

“No!” Hux screams, hoarse, before Ben can press down on the button again. He’s frantic, defeated, all delightful weariness and horrified confusion. “No, please don’t. Why–”

“That’s not what I want just now.” Ben’s toyed with the idea, to take the General in the same way he’s taken him so many times, but the picture it brings to mind is just too messy, too uncomfortable. He isn’t sure he’d enjoy that, and the risk of losing control in front of Hux is too great. He contents himself with staring down at the man at his feet, watching him work himself up into a panicked frenzy.

“Don’t know what–” Hux is saying, and his words sound so sweet. “What do you want me to say?”

Ben presses down for the briefest moment, to help him think faster. The General yelps at the shock, a undignified little sound, and oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“Please,” he’s saying. “Fuck – my face,” Hux calls, mouthing the words with desperate fervour, whispering with whatever little voice he has left. “Please. _Please_.” And he means it, he truly does mean it. It’s beautiful.

“And why,” Ben asks, deceptively sweet. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You said–” Hux starts, then stops. “Please.”

Ben crouches down, so that he’s level with Hux’s eyes. He grasps under his chin with one hand and tilts it up, smiling at the way Hux can’t bring himself to look him in the eyes.

“Would you make it good for me?” he asks. “You look like you’ve had some practice.”

“Yes,” Hux says. He nods and he swears, determinate. “Yes, I’ll make it good. Please.”

Ben’s smile widens some more. “See?” he says, tugging at Hux’s hair, patting lightly at his head. He’s very pretty like this, all crying and hopeless. “I told you I’d make you beg.”

Hux closes his eyes, doesn’t say a thing.

 _This_ , Ben thinks. This is true power.

“Get up on your knees,” he says, roughly. “Hands behind your back. Mouth open. Don’t move, don’t even think of using your teeth. When I’m done, I’m going to come on your face. Be grateful I don’t make you beg for that, too. Am I clear?”

Hux is nodding, desperately, wincing as he shifts. He gets up on one knee and falls back down, hurriedly scrambling back up, choking a bit on the collar as he pulls on in. Ben watches him, considering.

He’s not sure he likes this part, not really. The General had made it look so easy, enjoying Ben’s body for his own pleasure all the times he had him broken and sobbing, but Ben is finding that such acts hold little appeal for him now. He wonders if it was Hux’s doing that made him so, if the General broke something inside him so that he cannot find any pleasure in inflicting revenge, and he feels a renewed surge of hatred for the man in front of him.

Hux begged for this, Ben reminds himself, clenching his fists. He got himself up on his knees and now he’s waiting, hands behind his back and eyes closed, mouth half-open, almost eager after all of Ben’s attentions. He begged for this, degrading himself at Ben’s feet, and it’s only fair he gets what he asked so keenly for.

And so he takes himself in hand, grabs Hux by his neck and slides in, roughly. He’s not hard yet but this feels good all the same, the warmth of Hux’s mouth and the way he’s swallowing around his cock. He pulls him further down and down he goes, chocking, whimpering.

There’s the soft flicker of a tongue around his shaft and Ben smiles to himself at the feeling – Hux has taken this to heart, feels like, that promise to make it good, but it’s still not enough. He doesn’t deserve to have this be easy, and so Ben grabs a fistful of red hair and tugs, fucking into Hux’s throat until he’s gagging, sputtering.

The part of him that he’s trying to keep at bay, the one that has no place in here, is whispering into his mind that Hux hates this, hates it when he’s made to gag and hates to have his hair pulled; and he’s never let Kylo do it, not even once. So naturally Ben keeps it up, fisting both hands into it, stuffing Hux’s throat full until it spasms all around him. That part of him that is not Ben is wryly amused, thinking of the way Hux likes to keep his hair an inch or two longer than regulation allows, slicking it back so everyone can pretend they haven’t noticed.

The thought feels disgustingly fond, and Ben hates that somewhere, deep within himself, he regards this man with something akin to affection. He keeps thrusting, uncaringly, collecting those little whimpers one by one, until he’s finally there and he can pull himself back as he holds Hux’s head steady – painting his face with come and shoving him roughly to the floor when he’s done, letting him fall so that he lies crumpled there like a forgotten, discarded thing.

He tucks himself back in then uses the Force to summon what’s left of the pitcher of water, crouching down at Hux’s side to force his mouth open as he forces a few drop past his lips. It spills all over Hux’s white-stained face, his hair, that thin undershirt he wears.

“What do you say to me?” Ben asks, as soon as he’s sure he’s being heard.

The General frowns, brows furrowing. With his red lips and his messy face, sweaty and used, he looks so very small. “What?” he asks.

Ben sets the pitcher of water carefully a few feet away. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Fuck you,” Hux spits, and Ben shakes his head at him, hums softly.

“And you were doing so well,” he says, then presses the button.

It’s a familiar sight – a twitching body, fingers clawing, strangled sounds that are too feral to be truly human anymore. But this time, when he finally lets go, the General is laughing, his eyes wet with tears of mirth instead of despair.

“I wasn’t expecting this from you,” he says; and Ben knows he’s the one in control, that he should ignore him and not let himself be goaded, but this – this is interesting. He should hit Hux and make him stop, but there’s something admirable about the General’s resolve. Best of all he’s being _entertaining_ now, a welcome change from the snivelling, whiny mess he had to suffer for what feels like hours now.

He wonders where Hux finds the reserve of inner strength, what is going on in his pain-addled little brain. He decides to humour him.

“And what exactly were you expecting?” Ben asks. “That I would just have a nice chat with you, after everything you did to me?”

Slowly, so very slowly, Hux sits himself up on the floor, crossing his legs under his body, wincing the whole time. He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says “Not this. This behaviour–” he has to stop to cough, takes a long breath. “This behaviour is hardly suiting a Resistance hero.”

Ben feels a flash of red-hot anger surge through his body, making him stiffen. He hates Hux’s words, whatever he thinks he’s suggesting – Ben Solo is not a hero. He never was.

Hux’s pale face twists into a dry smile, and he realizes he accidentally said that out loud.

“I got into your head, didn’t I,” Hux says. He sounds so very pleased, and his sudden grin makes him look almost dangerous. A wild beast leashed, but not cowed.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ben sneers. His finger twitches over the button, his off-hand tightening into a fist. More than anything, he wants to wipe that smug self-satisfaction out of the General’s face.

“Oh, but I did,” Hux says, and his eyes are like daggers.. He climbs up to his knees, and this time he makes it look like a gesture of aggression, almost threatening. As if he were there by choice, looming over Ben instead of having just been used and tossed away like a two-credits whore.

“I took a naïve Resistance fool and turned him into a man who’d torture and rape a prisoner to feel better about himself. You are a credit to my ability, _Ben_. A credit to your maker.”

He’s seeing red, trembling with rage, swept by a flow he cannot control. He slams down on the button again, turning the setting all the way up, but Hux is laughing again. Still. Laughing even as he writhes and cries out, biting his lips bloody.

“Good,” Ben thinks he hears him say. “That’s very good. That’s what I would have done.”

He thinks he’s getting lost in this, losing himself. He shouldn’t be doing this. Ben shouldn’t be doing this, and somehow the difference matters, and yet it does not–

“I made you,” the General says, and there’s blood on his teeth as he speaks. “The person that you are now, it’s because of me.”

“You should stop underestimating me,” Ben says, softly. “I was always this way.”

Hux’s eyes gleam. Even as he is, dishevelled and ruined, he looks cunning. Commanding.

“Well then,” he says. “Then I suppose I can be absolved. “ His words twist into him like knives, and Ben winces with every one. “If you were this – monster all along, then it’s good that I hurt you. You deserved it, didn’t you? You know it’s true. You deserved it–”

“I _didn’t_.” The words spill from his lips before he can control them, and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, except that he needs to gets this out, he needs… “I never deserved it. I didn’t deserve any of it.”

And when the words are out, and he looks the General in the face – Hux, he’s looking Hux in the face – his eyes are soft all of a sudden, concerned. And very, very bright.

“I know you didn’t, Kylo,” he says – and that’s when he understands, Hux’s odd behavior and his strange looks and everything else; he knows, he knew all along, and suddenly it’s too much, the pressure in his chest, he cannot breathe.

He recoils, head spinning. There’s not enough air. He needs to – he needs to…

He doesn’t spare a glance at Hux as he turns on his heels and leaves.

+

By the time he comes back, more than half a cycle later, his quarters are empty, Hux long since gone.

That is good, of course. Kylo had been expecting as much, but he honestly can’t imagine what he would have done otherwise; probably something he’d have ended up regretting. He locks down the room with a final sweep of his palm over the access pad, hopefully to never be reopened again. He even leaves the chair inside where it is – he can always put in a request for another one.

After marching out of his quarters in a rage, he briefly considered the idea to head to the gymnasium where he’d been spending more and more of his time, before deciding he didn’t have the patience. Instead he’d taken his ‘saber to one of the lower decks control rooms, and wrecked it – see how the General would like that, he’d thought, as he systematically destroyed the entirety of the ship’s climate control system. It wasn’t vital, but it was just about the biggest inconvenience Kylo could have caused, and he’d half expected to hear something from Hux about it.

Nothing happened, instead, and nothing keeps happening ever since. The days turn into weeks; Hux leaves on three more of his planetside missions and he does it alone this time, and not once Kylo has to hear any reproofs on how useless and uncooperative he’s being. He’s summoned by his Master twice, and he doesn’t ask himself what it means for Hux that his presence is not required. When he leaves on a personal mission, and there are no reports he’s demanded to submit when he comes back.

The first time he runs into Hux, _after_ , it’s been three weeks. Their paths cross in a corridor on the way to the ship in-transit, and he can feel Hux’s steps falter, can hear him ask to his companion if he can please repeat himself, Colonel, I didn’t quite catch that.

There are more encounters, awkward moments that come by randomly and are always ignored, until it is as if nothing had never happened between the two of them, as if they’d never been naked together, sweating and panting, or played dejarik over and over well into the late hours of ship’s night. As if they’d never once shared a bottle of terrible Takodana brandy, or trusted each other with things that – but no, Kylo never did that. Never let it go that far.

It’s five weeks to the day when Hux clearly decides he’s had enough, and all but corners him during one of his now-rare visits to the bridge.

“Ren,” Hux calls out, loud enough for everyone around him to hear. Kylo thinks he can see him swallowing. “Would you…” he starts, then trails off. “Could we talk?”

Kylo could say anything here and now, he realizes. He could make it something damning; he could ruin Hux in a deeper way than he already has, in front of all his people. He knows this and Hux knows this; and so all Kylo does is nod, once.

Silently, he follows.

This time, when he’s led inside Hux’s office, he doesn’t take off his mask. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches as Hux chews on his lips, fidgeting with the lapels of his coat. He probably has an entire speech prepared, something starting with an exhortation to get this over with and involving a lot of overly-elaborate words with little meaning, but as Hux meets his eyes he only _snarls_.

“You are fucking terrible at this.”

Kylo quirks his eyebrows in surprise, glad for the helmet covering his face. “Should I know what you are talking about?”

“Take off that thing,” Hux says, instead, and when Kylo doesn’t move he clenches his fists and raises his voice so that he’s almost screaming. “Take off that thing, now.”

When he doesn’t Hux is upon him, crowding him against a wall, brushing Kylo’s tunic with his chest and looking up at him with burning, wild eyes. “You _left me there_ ,” he says, and Kylo has never had this level of anger directed at him before. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, you fucking left me there, bruised and tied up and – fucked raw, and you…” he trails off, shakes his head. Hisses. “Are you _insane_?”

“You weren’t tied up,” he says, just to offer some kind of rebuttal. Hux looks something close to murderous.

“Do you know,” he says, slowly. “How long it took me to get that thing off the hook in the wall? I couldn’t even stand. And if someone had seen me on the way back, have you _any idea_ what would have happened?”

Hux’s rage is a sight to behold, Kylo can’t help but notice, staring down at him. Usually, he’s the one acting out, the one who needs to be reined in, and he can’t help but find the change alluring. But if there was ever a moment less appropriate to start finding Hux enticing in any way, this is it.

“Well,” Kylo says, cuts him off. “There’s not going to be a next time, General, so you don’t need to worry. It won’t ever happen again.”

Hux turns his head away, and he doesn’t speak. Suddenly, Kylo is angry.

“How long have you known?”

He’s not expecting Hux to answer but he does, stepping back and going to pace across the room as he speaks. “Since Starkiller,” he says, and Kylo almost wants to laugh. _Of course_ , he thinks. It always comes back to Han Solo in the end, who couldn’t even die properly without wrecking his son’s life more than he already had.

“I asked Snoke about it,” Hux is saying, but Kylo doesn’t want to hear any of it, can’t take this for a minute longer. “He said–” 

“Shut up, Hux.”

Miraculously, he does.

But he’s still standing there, proud and self-righteous, and he just doesn’t _understand_.

“I hope it was fun, at least,” he spits out, mouth twisting around the words. Hux frowns, and the sight of him is enough to make Kylo seethe.

“How does it feel,” he asks. “Knowing you got to fuck the fantasy you’ve been pining after for so long? The real thing, even.” He walks up to Hux, grabs him by the shoulders – his padded, thin shoulders; he’s so wiry and small and Kylo could easily break him – and leans down to speak into his hear.

“That boy is dead,” he says, and it feels so much better now than when he said the same words to Solo. So much more freeing, like it’s finally true. “I killed him years ago, you know.” Ben Solo doesn’t exist anymore, if he ever did. He’s just a pitiful remain of nothing Kylo likes to bring out just to degrade; and he tells Hux as much, whispering words dripping with venom.

“How does it feel?” he asks, again. “Does it make you feel sad? Do you–”

Hux’s hands come up to grip at his fingers, breaking his hold.

“Oh, spare me,” he says. “You’re raving, Ren. I can’t believe you’re trying to–”

“You don’t understand.” Because that’s what it is; Hux will never, ever understand. He hasn’t been there, pulled between what he was and what he knows he should be, crushed under the weight of the past and the Light alike.

He catches Hux’s gaze just in time to see him roll his eyes, factitious though it is. “How am I supposed to understand if you…” He stops, biting on his lip. He takes out his cigarette pack and flips it open, then closes it again, passes one hand through his hair and winces when he realizes what he’s done.

“I was trying to help.”

He looks down to his gloved hands as he speaks,  and Kylo doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or throw a punch at the wall.

“You were fucking awful at it,” he says, and Hux turns away sharply, stalking to the door. He presses down on the access pad, motions for him to leave.

“I think we’re done here,” Hux says; and then, a vicious whisper. “At least I fucking tried.”

Just as he’s walking through the door, Kylo hears him. He stops, sees Hux staring at him with a look he can’t quite make out. He takes off the mask then, even though the door is half open and anyone could walk by; he owes Hux that much.

He wants to say what is on his mind, but somehow he finds that he can’t. And so he reaches out to Hux with his mind, finds the steady glow of his presence, waiting – and he can speak to him this way, when all the barriers have come down.

Kylo thinks, he’s not used to people trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **detailed warnings** : Scene features a shock collar, Ben/Kylo using the Force to inflict additional pain, mind games on both sides, Hux being forced to give Ben/Kylo a blowjob. Hux gives blanket permission for Kylo to do whatever before they start, but Kylo is a shitty dom and doesn’t check on him during the scene; at one point, he actually walks away. Hux’s only purpose for suggesting the scene at all was so that he could get at Kylo and trick him into admitting his Ben Solo compartmentalization isn’t healthy, which is well-meaning but also very unwise.
> 
> ++ A seriously HUGE thank you for all the amazing feedback. You know who you are.  
> (Also, since I’m a total concrit whore, if anyone here has been silently reading but hold off commenting until the very end, this is your chance. Just saying.)
> 
> ++ There may be more stories in this ‘verse ~~who am I kidding, there will be~~ though IDK about the overreaching plot. It may just be porn. I actually am writing one right now that may or may not end up in this series when it’s posted. Anyways, prompts are welcome.
> 
> ++ Watch me fail at being a fic writer with a timely update schedule on tumblr @[jonstarks](http://www.jonstarks.tumblr.com). Let’s chat!

**Author's Note:**

>  ** _and lead us not into temptation_ summary** : Kylo wants to get rid of every last trace of the Light and his previous life, and decides the best way is to talk Hux into a roleplay in which Ben Solo is a captured Resistance prisoners who is tortured, beaten and raped by Hux in his persona of a First Order General. Ben Solo is routinely defeated and humiliated, and Kylo Ren walks away knowing he is stronger than that. They do this, of course, in a completely fucked-up way because they’re human disasters – Hux has no idea what he’s doing, but he tries; Kylo refuses any hint of affection and aftercare – and, as time passes, Hux starts to develop a fascination with the character of Ben Solo, not knowing he and Kylo are the same person.


End file.
